


A Fódlan Frost on Sun kissed Skin

by Elasmosaurus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Hubert von Vestra, Established Relationship, Hapivain Agenda™, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Some temperature play if you squint, Southerners in the North, Top Ferdinand von Aegir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28277595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elasmosaurus/pseuds/Elasmosaurus
Summary: Ferdinand is right, of course. But Hubert has had enough of the insincerities and the niceties. The journey was long, longer than expected. Their horses had not fared so well in the colder climes, causing great delay. Hubert was weary, and irritable from riding and the stench of greed and corruption that hung in the air that surrounded the nobles. Only one thing could improve his mood. He stands against Ferdinand’s back to lean over him, letting his breath ghost over the shell of his beloved’s ear as he speaks in a whisper.“Darling, you are always chastising me for not sleeping enough. The hour is already late, we need to retire to our inn, and I intend to have you tonight. They will still be here tomorrow when we agreed to reconvene.”Written for metallic_sweet for the Ferdibert Server SS, based on the (paraphrased) "Hubert and Ferdinand get very cold and have to warm each other back up" prompt.Featuring Hapi's new nickname for Hubert and Ferdinand's first time in the snow. No WIP title for this one as it was named basically from the start!
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55
Collections: Ferdibert Secret Santa 2020 Edition





	A Fódlan Frost on Sun kissed Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Metallic_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/gifts).



> Okay so before we start I have to say the biggest thank you ever to [featherhearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherhearted/) and [Wyverntail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverntail/), without whom this fic would not exist.  
> I tried so hard to make the Dracula prompt work but couldn't quite get it to somewhere I think both me and my giftee would be happy with. After some much needed help and guidance from these wonderful humans, I abandoned the 1k words I had of vamp prompt and managed to put this together instead. Wyverntail basically deserves co-author rights at this point ngl.
> 
> I owe you guys so much, thank you for everything!
> 
> Shout out to Valiance and Karatechamp from the server for beta-ing and the admin team for running SS!
> 
> Listen I wish I was the sort of person who can see a prompt and just write it without asking questions like "where are they to get so cold?" but I cannot, so have a ton of plot and 12k words with your smut. Sorry. Sort of.

Stacks of reports from across Fódlan sit adjacent to a tea set in Lady Edelgard’s meeting room. The platter of sweets to accompany it is now empty, evidence of the sugar dusted pastries lingers on the three dainty handkerchiefs set neatly to the side. Four teacups sit in saucers, abandoned now as those gathered attend to their work. Sketches of wartime achievements are scattered about the table, but the words they are to illustrate remain tightly gripped in the hands of the still timid, but less anxious, Empress Consort. Propositions on educational reform written in elegant cursive have been annotated in places to add clarifications or refine ideas. Information on potential trade deals with Sreng, Morfis and the country of Brigid have draft replies jotted down.

A letter, sealed with the blue wax of the former Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, lies on top of the farthest pile. It has been neglected for as long as possible - none of those gathered wishing to deal with the glacial barrens to the north, hoping that the students who had been persuaded to join their cause would instead right their own homeland. Faerghans are still devout, still pious. Still liable to offer outsiders a frosty reception rather than a warm hearth to rest at. The Empresses and the Two Jewels all agreed the changes would be more agreeable to those who called Faerghus home if it came from the houses they were pledged to. In hindsight, they should have stated this explicitly to them. Because alas, the students who headed up those houses had other ideas. It had been beneficial in a way. One pursuing peace with Sreng and spreading the truths of a crestless world, a true meritocracy. Another, voluntarily standing down from their territory in a move that rippled through the country, inspiring others to do the same.

If only the minor nobles of Fraldarius territory were so obliging. Although in all their dealings with nobility, one thing had become clear to the group that gathered to build a new Fódlan. Those furthest down the food chain felt they had the most to lose and desperately clung to the outdated system, unable and unwilling to see the benefits of the brave new world being forged around them.

Of course it is he, Hubert von Vestra, who opens the letter. Its contents are as expected: petty infighting in the territory, issues with food supplies due to a lack of coordinated effort, thieves and wolves running riot. However, there is a sense of urgency to this report. The suggestion that without intervention, nobles may use the problems to incite an uprising against the Empresses.

After all they have fought for, after all they have lost, that will not do. Hubert informs Lady Edelgard that the matter will be swiftly dealt with, even as Ferdinand’s booming voice echoes in the chamber proclaiming it his duty to usher in Edelgard’s vision and reassuring her that he will see to this personally.

They set off on the long ride north the next day. Letters were sent ahead inviting nobles to join them at a humble inn on the turn of the moon. The surroundings should set the scene of what is expected of those asked to attend. No more grand halls, or feasts, especially where food is scarce. Another inn is booked for them to stay in, at Lady Edelgard’s insistence. Ferdinand tried to claim it unnecessary, but Hubert was grateful she was ensuring they could escape from the northerners once meetings were over. Forewarned by their former classmates, they brought ample clothing they believed would be enough to stave off the Faerghan winter.

They were wrong.

* * *

  
  


Finally, the meeting is over and they can take their leave. With a strained smile and a curt nod, Hubert takes Ferdinand’s elbow and guides him out of the room before they get caught up in an hour’s worth of individual goodbyes interrupted by questions on the new order of the world by nepotists trying to circumvent it.

“Hubert! We are here to smooth over relations, it is our duty to stay and make pleasantries with the people here.” Unlike Caspar, Ferdinand von Aegir  _ is _ capable of whispering. Unfortunately, he has mastered the ability to make his voice just as commanding when softer than the feel of his hair between Hubert’s ungloved fingers.

Ferdinand is right, of course. But Hubert has had enough of the insincerities and the niceties. The journey was long, longer than expected. Their horses had not fared so well in the colder climes, causing great delay. Hubert was weary, and irritable from riding and the stench of greed and corruption that hung in the air that surrounded the nobles. Only one thing could improve his mood. He stands against Ferdinand’s back to lean over him, letting his breath ghost over the shell of his beloved’s ear as he speaks in a whisper.

“Darling, you are always chastising me for not sleeping enough. The hour is already late, we need to retire to our inn, and I intend to  _ have _ you tonight. They will still be here tomorrow when we agreed to reconvene.”

Practised now at hiding it in public, the faintest shade of pink enkindles Ferdinand’s cheeks and neck. “Well. It is true, you leave me alone in our bed for much too long as you pour over the pages of your reports late into the night. You cannot subsist on coffee alone.”

“Ferdinand. On this occasion, I am agreeing with you.” His beloved smiles up at him, neck not quite so stretched to meet his eye as it was in their academy days. “So why are we still here?”

Ferdinand almost trips over his feet in his rush to gather their cloaks and bid the whole room goodnight so they can leave. It still sends some part of Hubert he buried deep, deep down aflutter to see how Ferdinand desires him. Him, Hubert von Vestra, who did not think himself worthy of any affection, much less that of one who shone brighter than the Adrestian sun on the summer solstice. That the one he used to trade insults with is now in every way his partner and equal swells the place where his heart, rather than the cavernous husk people describe him with, resides. Ferdinand flings the door to the outside world open a little too vigorously in his hurry to get them to bed and takes three steps before stopping. Hubert follows into the scant light from a single magical torch that hangs outside, closing the door behind them. A courteous move usually, a necessity in these chilly territories, and the habit of a lifetime for him, borne of a need for secrecy.

He has seen snow before. Hubert’s particular skill set and position as Lady Edelgard’s trusted retainer has taken him all over Fódlan. It’s cold and wet and makes far too much noise to walk in stealthily for his liking.

Ferdinand von Aegir has never experienced it. Aegir territory is too warm, so was Garreg Mach in the time the Black Eagles spent there. As they exit the blazing heat of a cozy room with too many bodies packed in, Ferdinand gets his first glimpse of the white flecks that fall from the sky that he has merely read about in those ridiculous romance novels he insipidly consumes. His golden eyes open wide, mouth parted in awe as he sucks in a breath that mists in the air as he exhales. Those eyes dart around from the snow in the air, to where it settles on the floor, to his visible breath, with stolen glances to Hubert, dearly wishing to share the emotions of the experience with him. Ferdinand no longer vibrates from excitement like he had in their academy days. Now, he is a little more subdued. He clasps thickly gloved hands in front of his chest, face still turned skyward as snowflakes start to settle in red eyelashes and hair. The wonder on his sun kissed face, flushed from the Fódlan frost, is breathtaking.

Hubert speaks to dislodge the lump building in his throat. “If either you or Lady Edelgard would let me poison them all we wouldn’t have to spend a whole day listening to the minor northern nobles prattle on in this blasted frozen wasteland.”

“You are not who they say you are, my love.” As always, Ferdinand’s smile is a radiant beacon of light in the darkness, even when still directed at the black sky above them.

“Since when did old doom and gloom solve a problem  _ without _ poison?” A voice that sounded much too cheerful, and warm, for the heavy snow that continued to fall and settle in the road carried from behind them. Hubert knows that voice. He still hates it, to this day. But the former Margrave Gautier had been helpful in persuading those of the northern territories to Lady Edelgard’s ideals, even if he hadn’t taken the initiative to spare them this trip.

For that alone, he probably shouldn’t kill Sylvain, no matter how much he wants to. Additionally, Ferdinand would likely be upset if he did. They bonded over horses and fathers with high expectations over the war and Ferdinand was rather fond of the vapid philanderer these days. Hubert had seen letters addressed to Ferdinand von Aegir, not the Prime Minister, on the man’s desk, suggesting a continued degree of closeness. Curious as he was, he of course did not read them, although it took much of his self control.

Twin silhouettes bearing their telltale swords appear through the whiteness. “I seem to remember him knocking you from your mount with a blast of miasma during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.” Byleth’s snark is sharper now than it had been when she was their professor, or leader of the Black Eagles Strike Force. A predictable side effect from leading a band of mercenaries, Hubert supposes, especially with the prickly Felix Fraldarius in the party. Felix grunts at the pair of them - never one for many words, and during the war he became every bit as animalistic as the lowly prince he called boar, although he seems calmer now. The life of a wandering sword suits him - both of them. Byleth greets Ferdinand with a nod, but he pulls her into a fierce hug. The bulk of war that had broadened his shoulders and developed his muscles dwarfs the tiny woman’s figure for seconds before they break apart.

“So you admit I was good enough to be considered a problem?” Sylvain’s easy smiles seem just that these days, with the genuine feel they were missing in the past. Hubert’s eyes flicker down to where a ring sits on his finger - but not on Byleth’s or Felix's. His spies are stretched thin in the north with the constant rebellions and fractured houses. The former Margrave had married, and he did not know when and to whom. Important information was slipping through the net. More infiltrators would be needed, then. Hubert would write to Lady Edelgard to rectify the problem in the morning.

“If your definition of problem is nuisance,” Hapi calls out as she materialises from the flurry of snowflakes into the small circle of light cast by the lantern above the door of the inn. At least Hubert actually likes Hapi. But the visibility was decreasing, and they really should be getting on, as he promptly informs the newcomers.

“Hey, why aren’t you staying at the same inn?”

Felix, Byleth, Hapi and Hubert all shoot Gautier their own variations of a deadpan look or murderous glare. “How are the castle walls still standing?” Byleth asks Hapi. She takes a deep breath in, and exhales carefully. “He’s not usually this much of a disappointment, Chatterbox. Not fighting beasts is a great motivator.” Byleth makes a face in agreement.  _ Interesting, _ thought Hubert, and a glance at Hapi’s hand reveals a matching band to Gautiers.

"How did you know of our schedule?” Ferdinand demands, earning an affectionate eye roll from their former professor.

“Edelgard sent me a letter,” Felix offers as Byleth elaborates. “She sent it to Sylvain, who got word to us. Seems like we arrived just in time.”

“You’re hours too late for the meeting and days too late to quell the unrest in the region,” Hubert hisses, allowing the venom he does not entirely mean in his voice to hide the chattering of his teeth.

“If we were going to do either of those things, sure. But we gave that all up, remember?” Byleth’s small smile is back. “Me, a Duchess.” She shakes her head and they all chuckle at the image. “No, we came to see you. Offer our help.”

“I won’t return, but I can tell you what I learnt about running Fraldarius growing up. Here.” Felix pushes a scroll into Ferdinand’s hand. “Map’s marked with the best places to grow the main crops you’ll need. What are you going to do about the thieves?”

Ferdinand muses over his answer. “Back home, we would simply send out a group to bring them to justice! Just like we were sent as students. But I fear the situation in Faerghus is more complex than that. Theft is not a case of simple criminal activity here: the people are cold, and they are starving. Should they be punished for stealing to feed their families? Surely not. However, we must set the correct example or the region will fall into chaos. More than one approach is needed here.”

Hubert loves to watch Ferdinand von Aegir truly in his element, but the ins and outs of politics bore him. Felix’s eyebrow is raised, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he nods in agreement and offers minor amendments to Ferdinand’s proposals. Hubert is filled with immense pride that he is obviously impressed with Ferdinand’s suggestions, but as they get further into the details of Fraldarius, he can’t help but drown them out. Although, he also can’t help but to be a little grateful for the second opinion, especially from one that called these lands home.

“So, the church is gone. People here have been struggling with that a bit, but they’ll come round.” Gautier rubs a hand on the back of his neck, a clear sign he’s nervous.

“Good riddance,” Hapi says coolly. Byleth and Hubert murmur their agreements, and soon fall into old wartime habits of discussing the many failings of the Church of Seiros. The slightly tense feeling remains, his muscles tight as Hubert withdraws into himself whilst contributing to the conversation.

“How are the two of you getting on in the capital?”

What a vast question. Byleth knows Hubert and Ferdinand so well she could be asking a myriad of things - Are you sleeping, is he thinking before he acts? Are you both comfortable in your own skin now? Have you learnt how to challenge those around you, has he stepped out from his father’s shadow? Do you both make enough time for each other, with your workaholic natures? Did you find your places in the world? Hubert is not sure if she is asking as their old teacher, or a friend. He decides it is better to treat her as the former.

“Why won’t you help us? You’re already here.”

Ferdinand interrupts before she can answer the question he only asked as a deflection. “If it were known, their presence here would incite rebellion, even if that is not what they wish. The common folk are unsure of us, of what was said or done in the war. For all they know, we are threatening our friends into relinquishing their land to the state or into an exile.” Ferdinand gestures at Sylvain and Felix in turn to emphasise his point. 'Friends' is not the word Hubert would use, but then von Aegir has always been a sentimental sort. “By removing themselves as far as possible, they grant us the opportunity to earn the trust of the people here. Faerghans are loyal by nature, we must not demand such loyalty but show that we are worthy of it. Solve their problems ourselves, show everyone how they can solve their own. Only in this way, will the good citizens of the former Holy Kingdom ever come to accept Edelgard’s vision.”

_ "Lady _ Edelgard," Hubert corrects him subconsciously. The conviction in Ferdinand’s voice warmed Hubert’s soul, however he shook like a leaf as he delivered them. The snow sits above ankle height now. Hubert starts towards him, but Byleth swiftly removes her cloak and throws it over his shoulders with a pompous flourish more befitting Ferdinand’s mannerisms than her own.

“So Stirrups, with all your new trade deals, how come coffee is still so expensive? Are you hoarding it all down south?”

Ferdinand looks up at Hapi, confused, until he realises she was addressing Hubert and not him. “I thought your nickname for my love was the Bert?”

“I changed it,” she shrugs, matter of fact.

“Why Stirrups -  _ Oh _ ,” Sylvain chuckles, burying his smile into Hapi’s neck.

“Speaking of riding, we should be on our way. Join us at Gautier for the night? The castle is warm, there’s plenty of good food, Adrestian wine...” Hapi trails off.

“Another time we will of course take you up on your most gracious offer! However, I believe it necessary for us to be reminded of the more humble lives of those here, so we will progress t-t-t-o our ar-r-r-r-ranged accommodation.” Ferdinand’s stutter gives away the shakes that begin to wrack his body as it desperately tries to keep temperature.

“How are you getting there?” Byleth sounds concerned, somehow not shivering in the cold without her cloak.

“W-w-w-w-e shall walk. It is n-not ffff-fff-ffar.”

“You should join us in the carriage. It’s too cold to walk now. Don’t want anything to fall off,” Gautier says with a suggestive glance and wolfish grin. Hapi shoves him, playfully annoyed.

“I’ll make sure he stays quiet if you join us, Stirrups.”

“No need. As Ferdinand said, our rooms are nearby.”

“As you wish.” Byleth’s commanding tone has an air of finality about it that stops anyone pressing further. She inclines her head, encouraging the others to go ahead. They bid goodbye to Ferdinand instead.

“A few tips for warming up, von Vestra,” Byleth offers as she presses a bundle of leaves tied in a thin muslin into his hands. “You can never have enough blankets, but they only help keep the heat you already have. Ginger,” she pushes his hands together, where he is holding the parcel, “is very warming. Don’t brew the tea for longer than eight minutes. Major arteries close to the skin are where?”

“Neck, thighs, armpits.” That last one he hadn’t known about before her training session on Not Bleeding Out. None of them had, actually, and it served dual purpose to their strike force: the knowledge saved Dorothea’s life and allowed Bernadetta to make some impressive fatal shots on the battlefield.

“Don’t heat up too quickly, it will be painful and causes lasting damage. Can also make you sick. Hands under the armpits do it well without that risk, but other places work too.” ...Was she really suggesting...? Their professor, so stoic and unreadable before, now so brazen! It was much better that Lady Edelgard had taken Empress Consort Bernadetta as her wife in the end.

“The best way to heat up, though, is a little... _ light exercise.” _ Byleth imparts the last of her wisdom with a mischievous glint that would be more at home in Gautier’s eyes than her own.

The four of them say farewell to the Two Jewels and begin to walk away. Gautier turns to Felix. “ _ You _ turned the castle life down. Why aren’t the two of you camping out tonight?” Hapi shakes her head at her husband, clearly fed up with his antics, but the look she gives him is one of adoration.

Byleth deftly lifts a gold coin from Gautier’s purse, holding it between two fingers for him to see. Hubert smirks. “It’s only courteous to provide shelter for those you’re paying to do a job.”

“I don’t have a job for you?” Came Gautier’s confused reply.

“Yet - you did pay us,” Felix pockets the coin smiling as they are swallowed by the now howling winds, looking as unbothered as if it were a spring day.

Byleth hesitates, turning to them one last time. “Ferdinand von Aegir! Our most noble Prime Minister. And Hubert von Vestra, Minister of the Imperial Household. Thank you.”

The earnest, heartfelt expression on her face is almost too much. Thankfully, Ferdinand’s icy form thunking into him is enough to keep Hubert’s wits about him.

“For what?” is his cutting reply. He is anxious to away to their rooms in the other inn. Blue is usually a fantastic look on Ferdinand, but Hubert does not appreciate the signs of intense cold on his partner’s face. 

Byleth looks at the pair in front of her, then glances back at her companions. A small smile curls in the corner of her mouth. “For our freedom.” She nods a final goodbye, and is lost to the blanket of whiteness obscuring all vision further than a metre.

Chill has set into his very bones, but he is handling it better than Ferdinand, whose lips are lightly bleeding from how his teeth press in as he shakes. Hubert’s hands fly up to cup his beloved’s face. “We can stay here for the night if we must, we do not have to walk any further.”

“N-nn-n-nonsense, my ll-ll-love. Come, we should move lest we become one with the ice.”

_ “Ferdinand.” _

_ “Hubert. _ I h-h-have not spent the last hour o-o-o-out here in this, in y-y-your words, ‘blasted frozen wasteland’, for you to ch-change your mind now,” he chuckles.

“Of course, my dearest.” Hubert wraps an arm around Ferdinand, pulling him in close. He rubs the redhead’s arms to offer what scant relief he can from the biting winds, conscious of how Ferdinand’s eyelashes sparkle from the ice crystals forming in them.

* * *

The innkeeper is friendly enough. Once Ferdinand has shivered his way through half the woman’s life story, Hubert makes their excuses.

“Our key, if it pleases you.” There is no question in his voice. It is a little...sinister, he is aware, and he is more curt than is really necessary but there is less colour in Ferdinand’s face than before despite Hubert running his hands up and down his beloved’s arms to bring feeling back into them. Hubert is also starting to suspect he was not as impervious to the cold as he first thought.

“Here y’go. Second door on t’left, loves. If you’re needing anything, please do come let me know. Folks round here aren’t all that taken with strangers, but I happen ter pride meself on hospitality. Don’t take it personally if anyone’s a bit off wi’ ya, though.” The portly woman hands over the means to get into their room, and Ferdinand spends a good three minutes longer than necessary thanking the woman for doing nothing more than her job and bidding her goodnight. As Hubert contemplates dragging him away again, filled with a need to banish the cyan tones from Ferdinand’s body, the man finally tears himself away to look into his own eyes.

Staring into them still sometimes takes his breath away. Hubert did not know when the passionate hatred he’d felt for the awkward teen who was far too self important, too demanding of his liege’s time when unworthy of even stepping in her shadow, had lightened into something that sent his pulse racing at the sight of his sunset orange hair for an entirely different set of reasons. Time was, their eyes would only meet in unspoken challenges, his own narrowed and scathing to browbeat the younger man into submission, although any victory was fleeting. Ferdinand von Aegir was not one to be kept down. No, he was a phoenix. The metaphorical burning of his house and his arrogance cleansed the worst of his faults with fire, allowing him to rise majestic and contented from the ashes, developing into the man he clasps close to his heart. Ferdinand still devotes every waking hour to the pursuit of perfection, except now he truly appreciates his role as a facilitator to lift up those around him, rather than drag them to be better whilst staying ahead himself. The joy on his face when others surpass him is a stark contrast to the steadfast resolve that hid disappointment when the same happened barely more than five years ago. To think that such a magnificent man had chosen  _ him, _ him of all people, all shadows, and death, and bloodstained; marred permanently by the path he had chosen to walk in service of another, to be with was unfathomable to Hubert. Lady Edelgard may have shown him the truth of the world and the action they must take, but it was these honeyed eyes that had given him hope that one day, they would achieve their dream.

And together, they had.

“...H-h-h-hubert?” He’d been lost in the best part of him too long, and had not heard the one he so claimed to cherish begin to speak. He would not make the same mistake again tonight.

“Forgive my rudeness, darling. I was somewhere else. What did you say?”

Ferdinand just smiles up at him, as if  _ he _ were the sun bringing life to the world, the rain that falls after drought, the clouds that snuff out the moonlight to allow all manners of illicit activities to occur unseen, rather than the other way round.

Frozen fingertips cup his face as Ferdinand steals a quick kiss in lieu of repeating himself and pulls Hubert towards the stairs. He’s still worryingly cold to the touch, but the shakes appear to have left him. Although, Hubert is concerned it could be a sign that the very essence of winter itself runs through Ferdinand’s veins and his body is refusing to waste precious energy on anything other than staying alive.

They did enough staying alive during the war. Hubert had promised Ferdinand that once it was over, they would live. 

It is a struggle to get the key in the door with hands stiff and seized up from the blizzard that now rages outside. After a short fumble with the lock and the handle, the couple finally stagger exhausted and numb into the plain room. Hubert manages to kick the door closed behind him and takes stock of their surroundings, noting all the possible places an assassin could hide first. There aren’t many.

The bed sits in the middle of the room, a four poster frame with heavy drapes surrounding it. In Adrestia, such a thing would be considered lavish, luxurious. Here, it is a simple necessity to prevent oneself from perishing as the temperature drops overnight. A quick glance makes it abundantly clear that the bed is safe, the solid wooden frame having no space to hide under. At his request, there was no wardrobe in the room. He preferred chests of drawers in his own chambers. Folding clothes is as effective at keeping clothes proper as hanging them up is, regardless of what Ferdinand exclaims to the contrary. Regardless, it is more than worth his peace of mind that one less shadow or space for those who wish them ill to hide in resides in their room. Ferdinand is so insistent upon his actual sleeping, and in a territory where so many blame them for the deaths of their king, their children, their parents, their families - every little concession greatly improves their chances of survival. The curtains for the room hang up, the lack of any persons behind them clearly visible. A simple table with two chairs sits to the left side of the bed. Fresh water to fill the kettle and a plain tea set rest upon the tabletop. By far the most extravagant part of the room is the fireplace, sitting cold but prepared with expertly stacked kindling and starting logs to get it going. A faint smell of oil lingers in the room, a smattering of the substance showing on the wood. Ferdinand gravitates to it immediately, removing his gloves as he calls upon his fire magic to set it ablaze but is met with nothing.

Hubert’s heart sinks with his face. Is he so cold he cannot access the magical energies?

Ferdinand frowns, having the same thoughts, but brings small, controlled sparks of thunder to life. They leave the room smelling much fresher than before. So it is just fire he cannot summon? Curious. As wide eyes look to him for an answer, Hubert recalls a titbit of information passed on by his network of spies when they were preparing to march on Faerghus during the war. The winter had been harsh, although the current abomination rivalled it, and even the mages were dying. The implication was that for fire magics to work, one needed enough heat within themself to spark the flame when conjuring. 

How poetic, really, that one deemed as cold as the infamous von Vestra should have the task of reigniting the fire magic in Ferdinand von Aegir, one so brilliant a mere smile can scorch a brand on your heart. Hubert had fought the feelings, the idea of being with his partner for a long time, having his own demons to overcome before he was able to share himself, but he had found that being marked as Ferdinand’s like that wasn’t as unpalatable as he would have expected.

“Your hands, darling.” Truthfully, Hubert’s are also of a similar temperature to the air outside, but he hopes the friction he creates by rubbing them over his partner’s icy digits will restore some of the movement and warmth to them, enough to set the hearth aflame and dispel the lingering chill in the room and their bones. If it also gives him the chance to worship the better part of him, then, well. He was born into a role of servitude. Brought up knowing nothing else, devoting every part of himself to another. He would do anything for his Emperor and more for Ferdinand von Aegir. The intimacy of the moment is pleasant, as is the faint powder pink that colours Ferdinand’s cheeks, face turned away with a coy, lilac smile. “Try again,” Hubert encourages. The heat flows into the cavalier’s hands, but flames do not materialise. An improvement, to be sure, yet Ferdinand is still shaking and the fireplace remains unignited.

Hubert moves away to fetch the matches next to the kettle, pulling his hands out of a reluctant Ferdinand’s.

“My love, you are so cold to the touch! I cannot summon fire, but I have enough to bring life back into you again.”

“Darling, your mere presence does just that. However, put all romantic notions aside of us surviving this blizzard with just our love and body heat,” Hubert mocks. “We’d be dead before morning. Let me light the fire,  _ then _ if you  _ insist _ on touching me, you may.” Ferdinand does not protest, despite his face betraying how much he clearly wishes to, allowing Hubert to fill the kettle. He sets it on the hook over the fireplace to boil and uses the matches to ignite the oil. The change in the room is immediate as the fire hisses and spits into life. Golden orange and yellow tones give the room a welcoming glow, boldening the rich colours of Ferdinand’s luscious mane. Flames lick greedily at the dry wood. The sudden change in temperature is almost painful. Hubert recoils from the fire almost into Ferdinand’s waiting arms as he recalls Byleth’s warning, and her other words. Ferdinand goes to pull Hubert in anyway, but he deftly sidesteps the movement: he has more pressing matters to attend to first. The tea with warming properties that Byleth had given them, ginger, she had said, he unwraps from the fine muslin to place in the teapot in preparation. Now there is heat in the room to compare it to, Hubert realises that their clothes are soaking from the snow. They need dry, warm layers if they are ever to dispel the frigid claim Faerghus has laid to their core. Ferdinand hums his approval when he voices as much.

“Help me undress, Hubert,” Ferdinand calls with a sultry smirk. He looks irresistible like that, but resist Hubert must.

“No, my beloved. I do not want you to get the wrong idea.”

“You do not want me to get the wrong idea? And what would that be? It was you who spoke earlier of a desire to  _ have _ me.” The indignation is not endearing, but the pout is, and would be much more effective if it wasn’t such a striking reminder of why Hubert needs to bury his rising desires. Blue tinges linger on the lips von Aegir licks as he appraises Hubert’s figure. “Come, my love. Let me make you forget the tedium of our day until you can sigh nothing other than my name.”

“You insatiable fool. Have you forgotten all we learnt about this place in the cold? I will not have you baring your flesh and catching your death! After all we have survived, for the  _ noble _ Ferdinand von Aegir to survive the mad prince but die to the harshness of his homeland. No. I won’t allow it.” Ferdinand’s face is hurt, but he knows his love well enough by now. Hubert’s bitterness is borne of love and worry and too much of that disgusting bean juice he so enjoys.

Both men disrobe without ceremony. Hubert turns his back to Ferdinand as he does so, to further discourage any attempts by Ferdinand to give in to their more carnal desires, and to remove himself from temptation. He cannot help the wistful noise that leaves him as he exhales, thinking of Ferdinand’s olive skin glistening with sweat as he runs a hand over the ample curve of his chest, but he pushes it aside as darkened fingers contrast against his pale white skin when he pulls on a light undershirt, then a second, followed by a woolen tunic. He should be more careful, really. It would be impossible for him to tell if he got frostbite, the discolouration would be no different to the toll he pays for using dark magics.

Despite the dry layers and the roaring inferno greedily devouring the dry wood, Hubert can still hear the chattering of his beloved’s teeth. He risks a glance back to see that thankfully, awfully, Ferdinand is also covered in warm layers. The chill must be set too deep, for whilst some colour has returned to von Aegir’s face, his lips are still frost kissed.

That will not do. Ferdinand von Aegir’s lips belong to him, and him alone. He closes the distance between them swiftly on his long legs and sweeps the other man into his arms in a gesture more befitting Ferdinand than himself. But time spent together has given them both some of the other’s mannerisms. Another of his beloved’s habits he has adopted is fiddling with the locks that always hang down his front. He reaches a hand for one now, wrapping it around his finger as his other hand comes to rest in the small of Ferdinand’s back. Hubert presses their foreheads together, eyes closed, and listens to the sounds of their breathing occasionally interrupted by the crackling of the fire. He hopes his hot breath against Ferdinand’s lips thaws them with more than just the heat of desire. This close, he can smell that awful fruity tea, the secondhand taste of which he has learnt to love on his tongue in spite of its sweetness; rich leather from hours spent in the saddle and armour; the fragrant rose, artemisa and patchouli notes in his soap; and the scent of fresh forest dew in the spring morning, so similar to petrichor highlighted with more earthen, woody tones. For once, Ferdinand does not smell of horse or maintenance oil, but Hubert finds rather than being put off, he misses it. The love he harbours for equine beasts and rigorous weapons maintenance is so much a part of him that the man would not be Ferdinand von Aegir without it.

Overcome with a rush of yearning, Hubert stops playing with the loose copper strands that frame Ferdinand’s neck to instead tangle his hand into the hair at the base of his neck, fingers cradling his head as he pulls the noble in tight for a sweet kiss. All traces of awkward bashing of noses and uncomfortable eye contact that plagued their first attempts at kissing are gone now, replaced with the easy rhythm of two bodies perfectly in sync. Hubert sucks on Ferdinand’s lower lip, massaging it with his tongue to return the blood flow and colour. His beloved melts, relying on the hand against the small of his back to push their hips together so Hubert can support their body weight as they continue. Hubert’s tongue flits across Ferdinand’s top lip, teasingly light touches, until the man refinds his feet. Ferdinand’s hands explore the rest of Hubert’s body as his mouth opens to allow probing tongues to pursue the lingering tastes of the other’s day. Still honey overtones, the man’s chosen sweetener for his tea, a slight tang of blood from earlier, alongside the irresistible taste of Ferdinand von Aegir himself. His work comes first, but Hubert would spend the rest of his waking hours on these lips if it were practical.

A high pitched whistling breaks them apart. Heat shines in Ferdinand’s cheeks, and it is one of the best sights Hubert thinks he has ever seen. His skin is still too cool to the touch, and he still shakes from it, but not as violently as before. Hubert lets a once rare smile pull at his face and the response from Ferdinand is radiant. Rather than the blinding smile everyone knows, a small, fond thing he reserves for Hubert and Hubert alone tugs at one corner of his mouth. A hand traces the outline of Hubert’s lips until the redhead’s eyes drift close to chase them again with his own. Hubert chuckles, placing a chaste peck on Ferdinand’s forehead and instead fetching the kettle. He fills the teapot and tries to recall how long Byleth said to stew the leaves for.

“Hubert, my love? Which tea are we having?” Ferdinand wrinkles his nose as the aroma from the teapot starts to fill the room. “What is that spicy smell?”

“Ginger. Byleth suggested it. Apparently, it has warming properties.”

“Ah.” Another reserved smile. “Did our dearest professor have any other tips for two noble southerners lost adrift in the bitter Faerghan climes?”

Melodramatic as always, but Hubert would not change a thing about him these days. The growth they had both shown since their time as boys allowed them to find each other as men. As much as he lightly chides his partner’s... _ ostentatious _ ...nature, for much else to change about him now would take away the very essence of what makes Ferdinand von Aegir, Ferdinand von Aegir. His beloved. One of very few he allowed to see he has a heart. Only for the besotted fool would he show any potential threats that he has a weakness.

He should really stop thinking of Ferdinand as a besotted fool, for he is not the  _ only _ besotted fool in this relationship. Hubert sighs, remembering Ferdinand’s question, and responds whilst pouring the tea as they both settle into the functional wooden chairs. It has steeped long enough.

“She warned against warming too quickly, for that can cause health issues and pain. And she also suggested taking a bath.”

Ferdinand hums as he raises an eyebrow. He clearly does not quite believe him, but that is by the by. Hubert refuses to repeat her salacious comment about  _ ‘light exercise.’ _ Instead, he raises the tea cup and takes a tentative sip, avoiding Ferdinand’s eyes. The tea is hot, in both temperature and spice. A musty, earthy flavour with citrus undertones that develop into a biting heat that lingers, dances across his tongue. He is surprised at how the drink does seem to warm him, although he really shouldn’t be. Their professor led them true in the end. One thing is for sure though. This will not be a tea Ferdinand adds to the roster of his favourites. Even when looking everywhere but the man’s face, Hubert notices the grimace that tars such statuesque perfection when Ferdinand drinks his first gulp, but the expression is quickly replaced.

A charming smirk and bright, mischievous eyes greet Hubert as he finally looks up. “You are blushing, my love. Are you  _ sure _ that is all she said?”

Hubert thinks over the bath idea. There was surely a reason Byleth did not advocate for them to bathe, especially as she had proven she was not above more suggestive advice. But Hubert desperately craves intimacy with his better half, so he pretends the shared bath he proposes was her idea, and the cause for the vermillion colour of his face. The prospect of disrobing so soon after they had just redressed and begun to benefit from the fire should be more unsavoury, but there are very few ills pressing Ferdinand’s bare skin against his own cannot cure.

Ferdinand reaches over the table to brush knuckles against Hubert’s face, and he leans into the contact. A thumb strokes at his sharp cheekbones. Such tender touches, he never thought the likes of would be directed at himself, yet here they are. Tea is finished in a rare silence that Ferdinand doesn’t fill, as the two peacefully enjoy the other’s company.

Scraping wood against the stone floor grates against Hubert’s nerves as Ferdinand stands. The smile on his face is dopey. Apologetic. Lovesick. Ah, but a similar look probably adorns his own face. Life was simpler when the echoing of booted footsteps moving towards him didn’t quicken his heart to the point that it made him light headed, but at least now he could keep a clear head regardless of the flurry of emotions within when Ferdinand was nearby. A necessity, with how closely they worked together. Hubert tilted his head in anticipation for a kiss that never came. Instead, a curtain of sunset orange tresses fell into his face as soft lips brushed against his forehead before Ferdinand took his leave to seek out the innkeeper about bathing. He is not gone long.

“It is too late for our own bath to be drawn, but we are welcome to use the facilities at the end of the hall if we are happy to leave our room,” Ferdinand calls from the doorway as he enters, robes and towels draped over his arm.

“Are we happy to leave our room?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand chuckles. “To bathe with you would make my heart dance with joy, my love. And I would detest to have disturbed the innkeeper for naught.”

“As you wish.” Hubert stripped to his underclothes, carefully laying out the layers over one of the chairs so he could easily put them back on once in the room. Ferdinand helps him into the robe, and he returns the favour before offering the object of his devotion an arm. Ferdinand takes it, sparing a second to rest his head against Hubert’s shoulder before directing them both to the communal baths. The room is functional, two of the three circular wooden tubs are filled with water. Thick air laden with heat and moisture brings a sweat to Hubert’s brow. A faint trace of the wisp of freshly extinguished candles hangs in the air, and his unasked question on how the water remains hot is answered - magic.

Hubert gets in first, water sloshing around as he pushes himself to the back of the bath, legs parted to make space for his beloved. Ferdinand quickly makes use of it, but as he positions himself to rest against Hubert’s chest, Hubert gently sweeps up the coppery locks and places them to the side, where they cannot get wet. His chest heaves with a contented sigh that takes more effort than the noise suggests with the cavalier’s weight bearing down on him. Hubert’s skin vibrates with the answering hum of approval, and he runs his hands up and down Ferdinand’s arms. Ferdinand melts, extending his neck and raising his chin to rest his head on Hubert’s shoulder. Golden eyes search his own and Hubert wonders, not for the first time, why they aren’t married yet. Work was keeping them so busy, but some things required special attention and could demand a change of priorities, such as this trip. Ferdinand von Aegir was surely one such case. Hubert thinks of the letter he has to send regarding informants in the north and resolves to add another line about the man he so dearly wishes to call his husband.

For now, though, all he can do to convey that sentiment is to cherish Ferdinand. Their lips meet in soft, languid kisses as the pair wash each other. There is no urgency, no need for this to progress to anything more. Simply an opportunity to relax and enjoy the reassuring closeness of contact between skin. Hubert notices the scent of magic in the air get fainter, and the temperature of the water begins to drop. However, more important to him is doting on the tense, roped muscles in front of him, working out the tightness from days of riding, from wrangling nobles, from shakes brought on by the cold. They therefore remain in the cooling water for longer than they should, and by the time they finish the chill they believed they had banished is back, though not as badly. Mostly, it is their hands that are cold once again, but Hubert will not risk it. Ferdinand is a creature of warmth, and he won’t have this frigid place claim that which belongs to him.

They exit the bath, donning their robes as they return swiftly to their rooms.

* * *

They are sitting wrapped in fur blankets to chase away the shivers that had returned when a knock rings on the door. Puzzled, Hubert rises to open it. The innkeeper stands in the corridor with two goblets in hand.

“Here, Ministers. Some mulled wine ter help with the weather. Margrave - sorry,  _ former _ Margrave’s orders. Sent word ter get you some, and for me ter store the cloak you borrowed ter get it back ter it’s rightful owner. Strange, it looks a lot like Fraldarius colours, but we don’t see young Felix about these parts any more. A shame, really, for such a proud house ter fall, but needs must I suspect. Hope this new vision of yer Imperial Majesty’s is a good ‘un. Folks’ll come round eventually if it is. Just gotta show ‘em there’s nowt ter be afraid of. Nobles is all we’ve known, and they’ve kept us safe from our own lands and outsiders that would seek ter hurt us. People are thankful fer that. Takes a bit of getting used to is all. Blizzard’s still raging outside. Must be quite different to where you’re used to, huh? I hear tales of how beautiful Adrestia is, lush greens an’ bountiful crops an’ the like.”

Hubert was beginning to wonder if she would ever shut up when the innkeeper finally pauses for a breath. He accepts the goblets and is surprised to find that they are warm. His brows pull together, and the innkeeper takes it as a sign to keep talking. Enough time spent with Ferdinand smoothing relations with disgruntled nobles has taught Hubert how to conceal the contempt he currently feels with a passable smile.

“‘S mulled wine, Ministers. Warms the very soul, what with the spices and the alcohol an the like. Say, you still look like bairns who refused to answer mother’s call back ter house when the day draws too long!” At being compared to a disobedient child, Hubert’s jaw tightens but he keeps his polite demeanour. Even more so now, she reminds him of the mind he loathed even as his body craved von Aegir’s when they were youths. “Listen, best thing for it is fer the pair o’ yous to get yerselves ter a warmed bed. We do love our dogs up ‘ere fer that very reason. I can get you one of ‘em ter warm the bed if -”

“Thank you. For the drinks, and your time. Please, take the cloak, and do not worry about the...hounds. There will be no need for that, I assure you. We will be fine. Please excuse us, we are tired.” Hubert’s tone makes it clear this is a dismissal, but he manages to keep his tone courteous, rather than the sneer he’d prefer to use. A true marvel with how desperate he is to get away from the overbearing proprietor. She nods and smiles at the pair of them before Hubert shuts the door.

Ferdinand’s eyes sparkle with the small smile on his face. “Hubert, these are the experts of living in such places. Mayhaps we should not have refuted the offer of a dog?”

“I am  _ not  _ sleeping in a bed that reeks of dog.”

His expression turns playful. “Then pray tell, my love, how you intend to thaw such frosted fingertips?” As if to emphasise his point, Ferdinand places a hand over Hubert’s heart. He can feel the cold that has set in beneath the layers he is wearing.

Hubert comes back to sit on the bed next to Ferdinand and offers him a goblet, bringing the rim to his lips. Ferdinand makes to take the goblet, but Hubert does not let go, instead feeding the warm drink to Ferdinand as he drinks it greedily. Hubert watches the bob of his Adam’s apple, mesmerised, as Ferdinand finishes the goblet. A small dribble of deep red liquid escapes from the corner of his mouth. Hubert swipes it away with a thumb, but Ferdinand chases it when he moves to withdraw his hand, sucking the last of the mulled wine in a practised move that once again suggests he wants more from the night. Despite his continued worries about the cold, Hubert’s resolve is starting to melt.

Then, he thinks of another way to warm them up first. Swallowing his own mulled wine in three gulps - the flavours are delectable, he will ensure that Ferdinand asks Gautier for the recipe - he places the empty cups on the floor, the metal ringing out in the room as it hits the stone floor. Hubert grabs Ferdinand’s hands to place them high on his inner thighs. A quiet gasp spills from Ferdinand’s lips.

_ “H-Hubert!” _ He smirks at the stutter not caused by cold, enjoying Ferdinand’s reactions.

“Just warming your hands, darling. Major arteries carry hot blood close to the skin there, remember?”

“How could I forget! The professor had us partner up for the exercises and I was genuinely concerned you intended to kill me more than once. Your murderous glare is quite something.”

“I struggled to resist you. Killing you, kissing you, either would have brought me equal joy at the time. Anything to shut you up,” Hubert chuckles, cradling Ferdinand’s jaw as he places a chaste peck on his lips. Their foreheads touch, eyes closed as Hubert allows his hands to run down Ferdinand’s front. Two shocked noises leave the redhead, one when cool touches brush against his warm skin, and another when Hubert grazes one of his most sensitive areas as he brings his hands to rest cupping Ferdinand’s chest.

He shouldn’t. He’s still concerned about them catching a chill. But he desires to make Ferdinand happy, and he can tell his partner wants this. He wants this. So Hubert teases up the edges of Ferdinand’s tunic and undershirt, tugging them up towards his head. He releases Ferdinand’s hands for long enough to pull the layers off, then returns them to their rightful place between his thighs as Hubert finds his own. A darkened finger traces irregular circles around Ferdinand’s nipple, over and over and over again as his lover starts to pant from the anticipation, until he hisses in a breath when a cold graze finally gives him the sensation he so desires. A warm tongue follows it immediately, a blissful contrast. Hubert flits the tip of his tongue over the rapidly hardening nub as his other hand comes up to gently roll the neglected part of his chest, the chill to his hands making Ferdinad more sensitive than usual. Hubert kisses across his chest to soothe the gentle soreness from the cold and Ferdinand keens as his mouth envelops the cold flesh to suck and lavish it with attention. He swaps between them, hand on one nipple, mouth on the other, grazing them with nails and teeth, teasing with hot and cold, firm pressure or the lightest touches, until Ferdinand is writhing beneath him.

A more religious man would describe the noises falling from Ferdinand’s lips as divine. Every gasp, every moan, every sharp intake of breath instead serves to remind Hubert of all they have accomplished, creating a world where the love between them is possible. There is no goddess here. Just the hard work and ministrations of the couple as Hubert continues to play the tune of their success on Ferdinand’s nipples like a violin. One of his hands runs through curly copper wires of Ferdinand’s chest hair, relishing in the soft feel of it against his rough hands.

“Enjoying yourself, my love?”

Hubert looks into Ferdinand’s lust filled eyes and inclines his head.

“Good. But the icicles hanging from our window ledge surely hold more heat than your wonderful hands.” Ferdinand brings them to his face to kiss down the length of each finger in turn. “Come, if you continue to be this cold in the bed under such furs, we should again seek the warmth of the fire.”

He slips off of the bed and through the drapes, pulling furs and a pillow behind him to lay out next to the fireplace. The thickest furs he places on the floor, building a makeshift mattress. Thinner ones he folds over the top, ready to cover them with once Hubert joins him. Then the dastard kneels, sitting on his calves. It’s a deliberate move to show off the thighs he knows Hubert loves. The sheer power, strength, direction in them leaves Hubert short of breath. His fingers itch to run up the inside of them, trail tracks up the soft, sensitive skin until he reaches his prize. A knowing smile adorns Ferdinand’s face as he crosses his arms across his body to grip at the edges of his undershirt. His entire torso ripples as he removes the garment, biceps flexing as he pulls it off.

The light behind him casts his body in shadow, but the yellowish light sets his golden skin and red hair aflame, and with it Hubert’s last hesitations. Ferdinand looks ravishing, a perfect mix of corded muscles and supple softness. He longs to kneel before his beloved and trace the curve of Ferdinand’s chest with his tongue. Hubert appreciated the necessity of drills during the wartime to keep them sharp, he continues to enjoy the well toned figures it gave the both of them, even if exercise is not usually something he partakes in. But some light exercise to warm them up? Even if they had to remove their clothes first? When recommended by another learning how to combat the bitter cold of the region, it would be unwise to reject such information. Sharing body heat would warm them up well.

“Do not keep me waiting,  _ Stirrups,” _ Ferdinand teases, beckoning Hubert to sit in his lap. Murder sets into Hubert’s eyes at the name, and he resolves to do exactly that. Taking his time, he pushes open the curtains at the bottom of the bed. He repositions himself to perch on the edge in the space he just cleared, legs slightly spread in full view of Ferdinand so he can enjoy the show Hubert intends to put on for him. It was not his usual style, but he knows of the exquisite torture he feels when this is done to him and Hubert is an expert in torture, even if this brand is not his customary type.

Conscious of how Ferdinand enjoys his chest, for reasons unfathomable to Hubert, he begins unfastening his sleep shirt from the bottom up. He spends nigh on a minute to release each button from a mix of numb fingers and a build up of anticipation. Hubert feels Ferdinand’s gaze searing against his flesh as more of his marble skin is revealed. When he finally uncovers the chest and collarbones, the redhead utters a low, appreciative moan and looks at him with eyes half lidded with desire as he pats the space next to him on the furs. He is already half erect, Hubert notes with a small feeling of satisfaction. This time, Hubert complies, shucking his breeches and smallclothes in the process.

Hubert comes to sit in Ferdinand’s lap, facing away from his lover, and cannot help but groan at the sensation of such strong thighs between his own and the quickly hardening erection resting against his bare ass. Ferdinand grins, running his hands up Hubert’s legs, pressing fingers in the crevices of his hips, then further up his torso as Ferdinand tangles his hands in Hubert’s chest hair, lightly scraping his nails to leave marks. Byleth might have been right about ‘light exercise,’ because Hubert’s heart was racing and he could feel the warmth of desire and exertion spread through him. Similarly, he could feel the flush of it spread over Ferdinand’s face all the way down through to the start of the trail of hair that led to the dense, curly red hairs and thick, hard length pressing against him. It drove Hubert wild to think of his beloved’s body so coloured with desire for him, yet the infuriating noble Ferdinand does nothing to relieve the want they both feel.

“Can I touch you?”

Hubert can feel the words against his skin as Ferdinand brushes his nose along the slope of his shoulder and up his neck to place a kiss just underneath his ear. “Of course. Must you ask every time?” The exasperation in Hubert’s voice is swallowed by a pleasurable moan when Ferdinand gently sucks at the same spot.

“Yes.” Another kiss. “Always.” This one, on the junction between neck and shoulder. “Each and every time, my love, to confirm you want me. That you want this.” Ferdinand peppers kisses across Hubert’s back, shoulders and neck.

“I want more. All of you.” Hubert’s voice is deep, desire adding a husky edge to it.

“Then patience, my love, and you shall have it.” Ferdinand’s body might give away his desire, but his voice was oddly even.

A strong, muscular arm wraps across Hubert’s waist to pull him down as Ferdinand grinds against him, taking his pleasure, lost in lust. His other palm rests under Hubert’s chin as two fingers pry their way into his mouth. “Suck, my love.”

Hubert opens his mouth wider to take them in, eager to please Ferdinand. He sucks on the digits, paying them as much attention with his tongue as he would if it were Ferdinand’s hard cock in his mouth instead. The taste was different, more salty and less musky, and Hubert missed the feel of burying his nose in Ferdinand’s hairs as he took all of him down his throat. However, Ferdinand often made him earn his chance to kneel before him, and Hubert was overcome with the desire to lap the wetness he could feel against his cheeks directly from the source.

_ “Nggh, Hubert, _ despite your bluntness with words you have a most talented tongue.”

“Mmmmh.” Ferdinand’s fingers were curled down, preventing him from saying anything. Hums and moans would have to do.

“Is this okay?” Ferdinand asked, always so focused on his lover’s pleasure.

Hubert shakes his head, and Ferdinand quickly removes his fingers to tilt their faces together. Now they can see each other clearly, the worried frown on his face is replaced with a chortle and a tender smile.

“You want more is the issue?”

_ “Flames, yes, _ Ferdinand.”

“Mmm, good, my love, but I need to prepare you.” Ferdinand taps three fingers against his mouth again, and Hubert drools over them, coating them with spit in lieu of the oil they do not have. He rests his own hands on his thighs as Ferdinand lifts him up a little, and a finger starts to trace lazy circles around his hole.

“Oh Hubert, how I wish to taste you...but I fear you’re too impatient for that tonight, no?”

Hubert nods, his mouth falling open as Ferdinand gently pushes a finger into him. He moves too slowly, and Hubert arches back into him until it has sunk into the third knuckle.

"Ah, ah,  _ ah,” _ Hubert pants, breaths coming fast as Ferdinand fingers him slowly. Hubert relaxes much quicker than he anticipates, and Ferdinand adds a second finger. Before he has a chance to move, Hubert is already riding his hand. Stirrups was an appropriate nickname, after all. Ferdinand kisses along his spine as he scissors his fingers, stretching Hubert as he adds a third finger that is accepted greedily. Ferdinand’s breathing is hot and heavy against Hubert’s neck, colour draining from his face as more blood rushes elsewhere. His cock aches for the feel of Hubert’s velvety heat, but instead he curls his fingers against  _ that _ spot until Hubert arches forwards, head hanging limp as "yes"es and curses and  _ "Ferdinand"  _ and "just there"s fall from his lips. 

“So wanton for me my love, you take me so well.”

_ "Please." _

An animalistic noise rises from Ferdinand's chest as he presses his forehead into Hubert's back. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"I  _ need _ you. Now."

The noise echoed in the room again as Ferdinand lines himself up with Hubert, pressing the glans against his stretched hole. He pushes in gently, mindful of their lack of lubricant and Hubert's sharp inhale of breath. Ferdinand feels Hubert relax around him, and when the hisses give way to a much more pleasurable sound, Ferdinand keeps pushing in until he is fully hilted within his lover. Ferdinand remains still, allowing Hubert to adjust, admiring the contrast between their skin: his so tanned against Hubert’s pale complexion, a marble statue of perfection carved specifically for him. As he pushes his hips forwards, he wraps his arms around Hubert tightly, holding their bodies as close together as possible. Ferdinand places a line of kisses up and down Hubert’s neck as he gently rocks, feeling Hubert relax back into him.  _ “Ngmph,” _ Hubert moans, letting his face fall to the side as his brows furrow from the ecstasy of Ferdinand stretching him, filling him, hitting all the right spots as they join their bodies together as one. His eyes flutter open to the sight of Ferdinand looking up at him with the same breathtaking wonder as when he first saw the snow.

Hubert’s chest tugs painfully as he is overcome by just how deeply he feels for his beloved Ferdinand. They stare deep into each other's eyes as Ferdinand continues to move inside him, inhaling the other’s exhale with their proximity until Hubert’s hand comes up to cup Ferdinand’s face and their lips meet again. They move against each other in tandem, nothing rehearsed or practiced, just two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly.

It’s sweet, and it’s tender, and it makes Hubert mad with want for more. 

Always able to read him these days, Ferdinand’s fingers come up to brush against Hubert’s cheek. “Tell me what you want, my love.”

_ You, forever, _ Hubert thinks. What he says is “you can go faster, move more.”

Ferdinand nods, and obliges him.

Their positioning is athletic, designed to raise their blood, as if desire wasn’t doing enough of that already. Ferdinand’s hands grip tightly on Hubert’s waist as he rolls his hips, thrusting deep into Hubert with more force than before. Years spent in a saddle learning rising trot are put to good use as Ferdinand snaps up into Hubert at a quick, steady pace that leaves them both moaning loudly without a care for disturbing the other patrons of the inn, lost as they are in each other. Ferdinand’s skin has reclaimed its furnace-like qualities, setting Hubert aflame at all the points where their bodies are touching. The redhead watches a bead of sweat roll down Hubert’s back, sees the light sheen on his face, and pulls out of Hubert, lifting him off his lap. 

Hubert whimpers from the loss, a noise he will deny ever making in the morning. “Why did you stop?

“You are sweating, my love.”

“Was that not the point of this, ah,  _ light exercise  _ session?” Hubert retorts.

“Light exercise?” Ferdinand questions, looking confused. “No, I was just concerned about you catching your death of cold from the slightest breeze,” he explains, mimicking Hubert’s tone of voice to mock him. He is met with the murderous stare that stops his heart for a different reason, and that morphs into something else when he pulls Hubert down into the bed he made of furs. Ferdinand could spend all his time like this, merely holding his love in his arms, but his mind is still clouded by lust. He pushes Hubert onto his side, facing the fire, and lifts a milky white leg covered in dark hairs over his own golden one as he once again slides into Hubert. Ferdinand hooks his other arm under Hubert’s head, allowing Ferdinand to caress his chest, swiping at the soft pink flesh of the nipple he can reach as Ferdinand makes love to him slowly and passionately. Each roll of Ferdinand’s hips is accompanied with a kiss, or a stroke, or a gentle nip at Hubert’s earlobe. For as loud as their moans and groans are, the couple whisper quiet adorations in the interim: you feel so good, you are stunning, don’t hold back, can barely keep myself off you, made for me, my love, my darling, beautiful, mine.

Just as the first time those words were exchanged, Ferdinand is the first to speak them now. “I love you, Hubert.”

“I love you,  _ Ferdinand von Aegir,”  _ Hubert uses his beloved’s full name derisively, but he only means it in jest. Ferdinand simply gives him a look questioning his audacity before a dangerous smile curls his lips. 

Ferdinand adjusts Hubert’s leg for better access and snaps his hips up forcefully. A high pitched, needy whine that Hubert will also deny in the morning escapes his throat as Ferdinand hits the spot that has him seeing stars. A hand appears in front of his mouth but he is too far gone to know what to do with it until Ferdinand’s breath ghosts against the shell of his ear. Ferdinand licks the outline of it and Hubert mimics the same on his hand. Ferdinand presses a kiss behind Hubert’s ear, then sucks gently at his neck as the wet hand comes to firmly grasp Hubert’s cock. His hips become more irregular as he approaches his peak but he never loses sight of Hubert’s own pleasure, pumping his cock with deft flicks of his wrist, allowing his thumb to brush against the frenulum until Hubert clenches around him and they both climax with a wordless cry. Ferdinand’s hips stutter as he thrusts through it, spilling his seed deep inside Hubert.

As the orgasm washes in waves of bliss through his body, Hubert has to resist saying the one thing he wants to over all else. Ferdinand von Aegir deserves a better proposal than something garbled in the heat of passion. He deserves flowers, and gifts, and fanfare, and absolutely everything he could ever want. Hubert intends to give it to him, so he has to wait. Tiredness catches up to both of them in their post sex haze as they come down from their joint high.

"I should clean up," Hubert mumbles sleepily.

"You are not going anywhere, my love," Ferdinand manages around a yawn, tightening his arms around his lover's form. "We can bathe again in the morning."

Hubert turns his head to steal one last kiss before they fall asleep on the floor, tangled in each other's limbs under the furs by the fire.

* * *

Ferdinand von Aegir is still one to enjoy a more luxurious life. He now pays for it with coin earnt for his services to his country rather than from old family wealth, however their home is filled with the finest goose down pillows and covers, silken sheets and a soft mattress. Hubert has often found comfort lying against a cold, hard floor. When he was young and determined to be reunited with Edelgard, he slept on floors in preparation for camping on his way to find her. As an adult, he had slept on the floor as practise should he ever find himself captured by enemy forces. These days, he does it for the health benefits to his back, forever stiff from hunching over a desk, or to avoid the sweltering heat of sleeping next to Ferdinand, however loath he is to leave his beloved to wake up alone.

For none of these reasons, Hubert wakes up sleeping on the floor in a Faerghan inn. He is engaged in a tangle of naked limbs with the auburn haired man whose head found its way to rest above his heart in the night. He cannot blame Ferdinand for that, of course, because he often does it himself. The gentle beat is calming and reassuring in a way that nothing else can match.

On this day, Hubert would rather remain in the warm, cozy bed of furs they’d built by the fire with his darling Ferdinand, but he would surely say something along the lines of ‘it is their duty as nobles to assist in settling the unrest in the region,’ and they need to bathe again after the previous night. Hubert recalls the events that transpired as he watches Ferdinand sleep, and cannot help the tug at the corner of his mouth. He brushes a lock of hair out of Ferdinand’s face, and the man stirs beneath him.

Once bathed and dressed, Hubert braces himself for a morning run in with the innkeeper without his usual coffee to make it tolerable. They descend the stairs and luckily Ferdinand takes it upon himself to bid the woman goodbye. Hubert nods gruffly in her direction, struggling without the bitter invigoration granted by the truly magical beverage.

Two cloaks folded on the closest tabletop catch his eye. They are in the northern style, with heavy fur linings and trims. One is pure black, with the symbol of the Imperial household embroidered in crimson red threads. The other is a royal blue, similar in colour to Ferdinand’s jacket, but the fur lining is a shade of red that matches Gautier’s armour. The Prime Minister’s seal has been stitched on in Fraldarius blue, a touch clearly designed to give them more clout with those they had to appease today. Thick, beaver skin gloves with woollen linings dyed a matching colour to the cloaks sat atop them, along with some pouches that smelled similar to the mulled wine they’d had the previous evening. The set of new leather stirrups placed carefully to the side brought a faint heat to Hubert’s cheeks. A tell tale smile crept onto his partner's face - he had noticed the blush, but thankfully said nothing. Ferdinand joined his side with a wax sealed note that they read together:

_ Welcome to our home. We hope that one day, you’ll feel as welcome in the north as you made us down south. _

_ Please don’t freeze again, there’s only so far ‘light exercise’ can get you. _

_ B, F, S, H _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This fic was also very much brought to you by [JotaroVapes'](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioaction/pseuds/JotaroVapes) epic [Ferdibert Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3OSJA38Sk84gjLa0lYO4EL)
> 
> I hope you liked it! Soft sappy feels aren't usually my thing so directly after finishing this I wrote a cathartic spicy pre-ts Sauna Hate Fuck, as you do. I'm a southerner and went to Uni in the north so the "southerners in the north" vibes were v. nostalgic and fun for me to write.
> 
> There are not enough words to describe feeling hot or cold or changing between the two. I exhausted the thesaurus on this one.
> 
> I thrive on feedback (including constructive!) so please feel free to comment and kudos etc etc  
> If I missed any important tags @ me in the server.


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